Dear Mr. Boss Man…

Dear Mr. Boss Man,

I am tired.

No, not the I-stayed-up-late-and-watched-Parenthood-tired, but the bone-aching, mind-numbing, I-worked-all-night tired.

Yes Mr. Boss Man, I do have another job.

Or rather, your job, is the other job. Your job is the one that pays the bills and gives us health benefits. Your job is the one for which I went to school. Your job is the one for which I have three different certifications. Your job is the one for which I got my Master’s degree. Your job is the one for which I am back in Graduate School. I work at your job from 8:00 am to 3:15 pm. But, you see, Mr. Boss Man, your job is my second job.

My first job is 24 hours. 7 days a week. 365 days a year. Sometimes minute to minute.

Forever. And ever.

In fact last nights shifts were at 11:00 pm, 1:00 am, 3:30 am, 4:40 am, and again at 6:50 am.

I am on call. I run to emergencies. I run to cries for help. I run into the danger. Nothing is too small for me. I am on call. When called. I run. My first job is on the job training. I am still learning even almost 8 years since I’ve been hired.

I did not go to school for this. There are no schools. No college. No Graduate School. No certification. July 25, 2007 I was hired on the spot. I knew nothing, and still wonder sometimes if I will know enough. Yet it is the most important job I will ever have.

No, silly Boss Man, I am not a Superhero. I am a pancreas. Yes, you heard that correctly. I am an organ. I am my son’s pancreas living outside his body. No, I don’t actually hang on his body and pump insulin into him, but I might as well. I check his sugar (or make sure he does), then I take those results and figure out WWtPD…What Would the Pancreas Do, I make guesses and hedge my bets on setting the right formulas in my son’s insulin pump so that it can act like a real pancreas.

Yes, your job in important too. Don’t get me wrong. But there is nothing more important to me than my role as pancreas. You see, because if I screw up, there may not be a second chance.

So I will take tired. I will take sleeping short clips at a time. I will take that exhaustion that is so deep it hurts. It’s my job.

No, I’m not a Superhero.

I’m a mom, of a boy, with Type 1 diabetes. And until there’s a cure, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love,

Me

 

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Yes, it gets eas…well, maybe not.

I saw an old friend yesterday. We were friends back when my heart and soul was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. We haven’t seen each other in years. Since we lost touch, so much has happened. I went back to work. I went back to school. My kids have gotten so much older (but I haven’t). Some of us in the house were diagnosed with Celiac (that’s another future blog…www.celiacdemystified.org) and things have gotten easier.

Wait.

No. They haven’t.

Except, if you had asked me that 30 seconds before I had reconnected with this old friend, I would have said, “Yes, it has gotten easier,” but in fact, I was asked that and I didn’t say that. I couldn’t say that.

Almost 8 years in and I COULD NOT say it has gotten easier.

Here’s how the conversation transpired:

Her: Wow! It’s been so long. (Peering into my cart…) I feel like I’m forgetting something.

Me: Well, I don’t buy much here, we have celiac now so…

Her: Oh, celiac? But wait, didn’t you also have diabetes?

Me: Yes, we do have diabetes but we added celiac about a year ago.

Her: Oh, gosh, I remember that now. It was so confusing and difficult. Is it still confusing and difficult? Does it get easier?

Is it still confusing and difficult? Does it get easier? Is it still confusing and difficult? Does it get easier? Confusing? Difficult? Easier? Hhhhmmmm.

I have to impart some back story here…we were friends when my boy was JUST diagnosed. We were still on shots, the pen in fact. So she remembers me fumbling with pen needles, and cartridges, and lugging all the supplies around. Also, we were just learning how to count carbs, and even what carbs were, what diabetes meant, and how it was going to affect us in the long run. She remembers the crying. The pain. The uncertainty. The ignorance. The exhaustion. The everything.

We now have an insulin pump (have for many years). We now have the Dexcom Continuous Glucose Monitor (have for many years). We now use Nightscout #wearenotwaiting to remotely monitor glucose levels. We have advanced along with all the available technology out there. Gone are the days of pen needles, looking up carb counts in a book, carrying ketone strips for every number over 250 and so forth.

Back to the conversation…

Me: (Small laugh and smile) It does get eas…

Me: (Smile) It does get eas…

Me: It’s not so confusing and it’s not so difficult.

WHAT?!?! I couldn’t bring myself to say that it has gotten easier. I was shocked by my own words, or lack thereof. I FEEL as if it has gotten easier, but all I could muster was that it was not so confusing and not so difficult.

I guess it will never be easy knowing my son can die from Type 1 diabetes.

I guess it will never be easy knowing that my son is alive because of insulin.

I guess it will never be easy  knowing that my son will never get a break from wearing a pump, or giving himself shots, or counting his carbs, or checking his sugar.

I guess it will never be easy knowing that I will forever be up in the middle of the night making sure my son is okay.

What is easy is knowing that everything I do keeps my son happy, healthy and alive.

Yeah, that’s not confusing or difficult at all.

I do what I do because it’s what a D mama does.

 

 

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Middle School. Oops, I blinked.

Seven years.

That is how long we have been living with Type 1 Diabetes. I almost shouldn’t be writing a blog post at this time because I am uncharacteristically speechless. I cannot find the words to express how quickly these 7 years have passed. We started this journey in Pre School and we are up to the Middle School part.

Middle School.

Blink.

The amount of worry that I have for my heart starting Middle School is immense. I’m not really worried ‘about’ diabetes at this juncture, I am more worried about ‘because’ of diabetes. I mean I always worry ‘about’ diabetes; the highs, the lows, the in betweens, but this time I worried about the things that can happen ‘because’ of diabetes.

My son is awesome. Every mom thinks that, but if you know my son, you’d agree. He rocks. And we have been very lucky that we have made friends through the years that are equally awesome, and they equally rock. They don’t blink an eye when it comes to diabetes stuff. My boy is just my boy to them and that’s that.

Middle School is a whole ‘nother animal as they say.

There will be kids there that aren’t awesome, and that don’t rock and some will just plain suck. And my boy may not just be my boy, he may be the kid with diabetes. Ewwwww don’t sit with him, he has diabetes!!!! Ewwwww I’d never be your partner, you have diabetes!!!! You get what I’m saying. Things, bad things, sad things, happening to my awesome boy because he has diabetes. Oh sure, I may be exaggerating, but I may not be.

So my wishes from now on, on the 11:11 and the 12:12 and for every wayward eye lash, my wish will be that the Middle School kids see my son for who he is and not what he has. He is awesome. He is smart. He is friendly. He is funny, almost hysterical at times. He is obnoxious, I mean, c’mon he is 11. He is adorable.

Everybody has something. My boy has diabetes. As I hope he sees past people’s ‘somethings’ and gets to know the kid inside, and I wish they will do the same for him.

It’s my find-a-penny-on-heads wish, they always come true, right?

 

 

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